The Forgotten Face
by MaryCamille
Summary: Dean and Sam are in town on a hunt when Dean bumps into a familiar face. The only problem? She swears she's never met him before
1. Chapter 1

Dean was sitting in the Impala with the local classic rock station turned on. It wasn't loud enough to draw attention, but loud enough that he could feel the bass thumping under his feet as he watched school children run around on the playground.

They were in town for a case. Kids had been mysteriously ending up in the hospital, deathly sick, one by one, and it had spiked Sam's interest. He had convinced Dean to go with him and check it out. Sam was researching, and Dean had decided to take advantage of the warmth provided by the surprisingly non-hidden-by-clouds sun. Fall had settled in cooler than usual and the cloudless sky that Wednesday allowed the sun to warm the temperatures so that the light jacket he wore was unnecessary.

The small town's school didn't have its own playground, so the kids were walked by a teacher to the small park across the street and allowed to play for recess.

Dean had been sitting there for about fifteen minutes, silently watching, when a small, young, blonde woman emerged from the school. He didn't see her until she tapped the shoulder of the other teacher who had been watching the kids, smiling as she spoke.

Dean's heart faltered in his chest as he watched her. The other teacher stood and said something to her before walking back to the school. The blonde woman sat on the bench, taking her position of watching the children.

Before Dean knew it, he'd turned off the car and was walking up to the bench where she was, not wanting to draw attention be damned. He hadn't even thought before acting. His feet had started moving before he'd told them to, boots crunching over the array of different colored fallen leaves. It wasn't long before he was standing a few feet from her, near the other side of the bench.

He cleared his throat nervously as he stared at her. When she looked up, he fought for words. "Mind if I sit here?" he finally asked, fighting through the tightness in his throat.

She smiled kindly and nodded, her blonde curls bouncing gently. "Sure, yeah," she said, gesturing beside her.

Dean sat down and struggled to think of something to say. He looked up at her, his mouth slightly opened, trying to speak. The cherry red color of her lips, the dirty blonde color of her hair, the brown of her eyes, the southern accent that adorned her words. It _couldn't_ be her. She would have remembered him.

"You all right?" she asked him as she observed his struggle. A small smile turned the corners of her full lips upwards. She tilted her head slightly, and her blonde hair swayed gently as a cool breeze blew past.

Dean blinked, still reveling in the sound of her voice. "Yeah, I just…" he trailed off as he looked into her sincerely concerned brown eyes. "God, you remind me of somebody," Dean chuckled, clearing his throat. He looked down and a glimmer caught his eye. A diamond ring glittered on her ring finger. An engagement ring, no doubt. He looked back up at her again with wide eyes.

She laughed and looked back over to the children before replying. "Well, I hope that's a good thing," she smiled.

"Yeah, that's definitely a good thing." One side of Dean's mouth pulled up in a grin. He knew better than to stare, and he knew it was rude, but he couldn't find it in him to take his gaze off of her. He couldn't quite convince himself that she wasn't going to disappear if he did.

The woman looked back up at him. She was substantially shorter than him, even sitting, just like she'd always been. "You new in town?" she asked, her smile still in place.

"Uh, yeah. Travellin' through, actually." Dean couldn't lie to her, no matter how he tried. A lie wouldn't form in his mind.

She nodded. "Road trippin'?" she clarified.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied. He hoped he wasn't making her uncomfortable, the way his eyes never left hers, especially with the ring on her finger.

"My fiancee and I love to road trip."

Her fiancee. Dean couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt.

"Ah," he managed to choke out in response.

After a few moments of silence between the two, she held out her hand. "Jo," she offered.

_I know, _Dean wanted to say. _I know who you are, Jo._

"Dean," he introduced himself, taking her hand and shaking it gently.

Her hand was smooth and small in his large, rough palm.

The smile faded from her face. "Huh," she murmured as she looked into Dean's green eyes.

Dean swallowed. "What?" he asked. Did she remember him? Did she recognize him?

Jo's brow furrowed and she frowned for a moment. Shaking her head, she placed the smile back on her face. "Nothin'. Deja vu or somethin', I guess."

Dean's heart fell. "Yeah," he choked, looking down at their hands, still clasped together. "Sorry," he murmured, letting go.

"That's all right," she laughed. She looked down at her watch then and sighed. "I'm sorry, I've gotta round all of 'em up and get 'em back inside."

Dean nodded, looking back up at her again. His throat grew tight again. Jo started to stand, and he reached out and touched her arm. "Jo," he said quietly.

Jo turned back and sat next to him again. "Yes?" she asked, her small, perfect brow quirked upwards.

Dean stared at her, tracing her features once more, before looking back into her eyes. _She had to remember him. She couldn't just forget him. She couldn't forget that kiss._ But as he watched, her eyes just grew more confused, more concerned. "Nothin'," he shook his head. "Sorry."

Jo nodded, her brow furrowing. "It was nice to meet you, Dean," she said kindly. She paused, staring at him for a moment, almost as if something clicked, but then shook her head and stood.

Dean watched as the perfect woman rounded up the kids and ushered them across the street and back into the school. The door closed behind her. Suddenly, Dean felt sick to his stomach, knowing he'd lost her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Jo had had a strange feeling ever since meeting the stranger Dean in the park. Like something was missing. A hole in her chest. Like she should remember something, but just… _couldn't_.

Her friends had noticed a change in her attitude, and so had her fiancee, and she was constantly being asked if she was all right. "I'm fine," was always her reply.

Saturday was bitterly chilly, and Jo had herself wrapped up in a sweater. Her blonde curls fell and shielded her ears from the cold air as she walked briskly through the parking lot towards the small coffee shop.

She needed to sit down and think — hard — with a cup of hot coffee. And not the crap coffee she made at home. Something brewed nicely and served expertly.

The bell dinged above the door as she opened it, stepping inside. Jo closed the door behind her quickly so that the heat of the building wouldn't escape.

She ordered a caramel macchiato with plenty of whipped cream and waited by the counter for the barista to make it.

Sniffing through her cold nose, she glanced around the building. Her gaze stopped at one table in particular. Well, more accurately, the man sitting there. It was Dean. There were papers spread across the table. Newspapers, printed papers, articles, and a small leather-bound notebook. She watched him curiously as he mulled over them and underlined certain words. He was alone, sitting quietly.

Jo waited impatiently for her coffee, and when it was finally done, she picked it up quickly and made her way over to his table, her heart pounding in her chest.

"It's Dean, isn't it?" she asked, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear nervously. She knew his name. Of course she did. But she was going to play this as cool as possible.

The sleeves of Jo's sweater were too long for her, and she used them to shield her hands from the heat of the cup of coffee she held.

Dean looked up at her, a small smile on his lips. It faded when he recognized her. "Jo," he said quickly. An awkward second later, he swallowed. "Ah, yeah. It's Dean," he nodded, looking slightly disappointed.

"Can I sit here for a second?" she asked, pointing at the empty chair across from him.

"Yeah, lemme just clean this up," he said as he scooped up the papers and placed them face down, snapping the leather-bound book closed and setting it gently on top of the stack.

Jo sat at the table and placed the coffee on its smooth surface, her hands still encircling it. "What are those?" she said, glancing at the papers.

"Just work," Dean answered. There was silence, the only sound that of coffee being brewed, for a moment between them. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, trying to catch her eyes.

Jo looked up at him. His face was earnest. He looked utterly concerned. Too concerned for a stranger she'd talked to for only minutes days ago. He had folded his arms across the table and was looking right into her eyes.

She couldn't help the flutter she felt in her stomach. "No, I'm actually not," she answered as he held her gaze. His green eyes grew sympathetic as she watched. "This is goin' to sound real crazy to you — it sounds crazy to me — but… Ever since we talked, I can't shake this feelin' that… That I know you or somethin'."

Dean nodded. Why was he nodding? Surely she was insane.

"I mean, I have this feelin' like there's somethin' missin'. But I never noticed it until after I talked to you the other day," Jo elaborated. Her brow furrowed when she noticed that a small smile was tugging at his lips. "What?"

Dean shook his head and laughed lightly. "I just… I know what you mean, Jo. I know exactly what you mean."

"No," she shook her head. "No, you're supposed to tell me I'm crazy. You're supposed to roll your eyes and give me the number to a doctor. This is ridiculous!" she rambled.

"No, Jo, it isn't," he smiled at her. He spoke almost as if he knew her.

"Yes, Dean, it is. I've never met you," she said, her voice slightly panicked. "I'm engaged."

"I realized that," he replied coolly with a nod.

Her mouth hung open just barely as she stared at him for an extended amount of time.

Thoughts swirled in her head so furiously that she felt the beginnings of a headache forming.

She set her jaw and straightened her shoulders. "Fine then. This'll prove I'm crazy. For some damn reason, I could swear your last name is Winchester. But it isn't."

Dean laughed and leaned back in his chair. "Dean Winchester at your service," he smirked. There was a pause for a moment before he spoke again. "Winchester is my last name, Jo."

She snorted incredulously. "Very funny," she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is it?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "My mom named me. I've always liked my name."

"Ha ha ha," Jo laughed sarcastically, preparing to stand.

Dean leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his jeans. He opened it and pulled a few cards out, sifting through them for a moment before he held one of the plastic credit cards out to her. It was worn and looked older than any of the newer, shinier cards.

She took it from him and examined the name on it for a minute. _Dean Winchester._

Jo looked back up at Dean with wide eyes and her mouth agape.

"It's been a real long time since I've seen you last, Joanna Beth Harvelle," Dean said, his face absolutely serious. There were no hints of a smile or joke in his eyes.

Jo felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She could barely breathe. How did he know her name?

"_What?" _she gasped.


	3. Chapter 3

_Panic surging through her veins. Fear spreading through her stomach. Pain ripping through her skin._

Jo gasped awake, bolting upright in her bed. Sweat soaked her forehead and the back of her neck.

_Dean Winchester. Dean and Sam Winchester. _She remembered it all now. The devil, the angels, the demons, Carthage, the Apocalypse. How could she have forgotten? How was it possible that those memories could have been wiped clear from her mind?

She pushed the sheets off of herself and jumped out of bed, but was careful not to wake her fiancee. Jo pulled her hair up into a sloppy ponytail and stared at herself in the mirror. She hadn't even known who she was. For years, she'd been living a lie. She wasn't at all who she thought she'd been. Jo wasn't a teacher. Jo was a hunter. She saved lives. She made sacrifices.

Jo splashed water on her face and rushed into her closet. She pulled a blue flannel shirt on over the tank top she wore and kicked her pajama pants off quickly before pulling on a pair of jeans. She shoved her feet into a pair of boots and grabbed a leather bomber jacket, slipping her arms into the sleeves as quickly as she could.

She exited the bathroom, flipping off the lights as she did so, and stopped. There was the bed she'd been sleeping in for years, the man she'd been sleeping beside for years. She looked down at her hand, at the glittering diamond ring there. Jo pulled the ring over her knuckle and slipped it off of her finger, setting it on the bedside table.

This wasn't her fiancee. This wasn't her bed. This wasn't her home.

She was Joanna Beth Harvelle. Her home was the Roadhouse. The only man she'd ever thought she could truly love was Dean Winchester. She couldn't live the lie anymore, knowing what it was now.

She wouldn't regret this.

Jo left the room and picked up her keys from their place on the kitchen counter. She unlocked the front door and slipped outside, locking it again.

Soon, she was driving down the road towards Dean's motel. He'd told her where he was staying, just in case she wanted to find him.

"_Just in case you remember anythin', Jo. You come find me."_

It was three in the morning. The road dragged on and on. She'd never felt a minute take so long to pass. The glowing green numbers on the dashboard clock of her car ticked by slowly. She ignored the yellow flashing lights at the empty intersection, not bothering to stop like she was supposed to.

Finally, she saw the motel. She pulled into the parking lot and stopped, turning off the engine. She got out and slammed her door shut before darting up the stairs at the end of the building.

"_Room 52. I'll be there in case there's anythin' you wanna tell me."_

There was definitely something she had to tell him. And things she needed to ask him.

She found room 52 and banged her fist against the door loudly, figuring that they would both be asleep at this time in the morning.

She waited. … _Nothing_.

Jo was about to knock again when she heard the slamming of a car trunk and the low murmur of mens' voices. She turned and looked off the balcony.

"Dean!" she called. But it was too late. He'd already climbed into the driver's seat of his precious 1967 Chevrolet Impala and shut his door. Dean couldn't hear her. "Sam!" she cried even louder, hoping she could catch his attention before too late.

She ran down the concrete ground and took the stairs two at a time.

Luckily, she'd caught Sam's attention. He had raised an eyebrow, completely clueless, and was watching the blonde woman as she ran towards them.

Dean had emerged from the car and made his way back around it. He glanced at Sam quickly before looking back at her. "Jo?" he called.

She closed the distance between them quickly. Her chest collided with his and she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. "Jesus Christ," she gasped, tears filling her eyes. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean's arms wrapped around her in response and he lifted her off of the ground, holding onto her tightly. He chuckled quickly. "It's okay, Jo," he murmured, pressing his face into her hair. His voice was thick with relief — _she remembered him. Finally._

Jo shook in his arms, tears overcoming her. She wasn't normally a crier, but this was a complete different situation.

The hole in her heart, the pit in her stomach — they were gone. She remembered everything. She knew where she belonged, and she knew why Dean's face had haunted her.

"What happened to me?" she asked, pressing her face into his shoulder. Her grip on his leather jacket didn't loosen in the slightest.

"I don't know, Jo. Doesn't matter," he replied.

As she breathed in the smell of whiskey and Old Spice on his jacket, she smiled. How could she have ever forgotten such an intoxicating smell? How could she ever have forgotten such a charming smile?

But that was just it — she'd never forgotten Dean. He'd always been right there, waiting to be thought about. Someone had been blocking his memory from her. And it wasn't something she was willing to forgive whoever it was for. But for now, she was comfortable where she was.


End file.
